Broken Threads
by TresMaxwell
Summary: Their friendship never recovered. It hovered at the edge of their formal conversations, a shadow of a shadow. Civil War took everything with it and left Tony bereft, even after Steve returned. Spoilers for Civil War. Short intro, will be more if people seem to like it. Needed a break from my other story. Will be M/M if continued.


Their friendship never recovered. It hovered at the edge of their formal conversations, a shadow of a shadow. Every argument that led to raised voices left them tense and cautious, as if the other might attack. Tony tried to make jokes out of it, warning Steve that he might start another Civil War if he didn't watch what he said. It was never funny. Tony would work his tongue around in his mouth after the words left as if their foul taste lingered.

As distant as the war got from their lives, it kept its claws hooked into Tony's chest, ripping at him when he allowed himself to forget. It was impossible to forget. The images of Steve, bloodied and still, branded his mind. The fight over unmasking superheroes was never meant to go so far. Tony was certain he stood on the right side, but so did Steve and they were both too stubborn to back down.

Tony closed his eyes to block out the living, breathing, scowling Steve that was a ghost of the past. Being near him made Tony's hands curl into fists because Steve never smiled at him anymore. There was that brief moment when they were reunited, when Steve was alive and thrilled to see him. That was incredible. It was everything Tony hoped, prayed, and wept for, but then the moment ended. They remembered what they'd done to each other and a wall came down between them.

"Are you listening to me?"

Tony exhaled and opened his eyes, "In a roundabout way, sure. Well, only if that long rant included Jessica Alba, if not, then I was daydreaming."

He hated the quip and the indignation it brought to Steve's strong features, but it was easier than admitting that he couldn't stop picturing Steve lying on a metal slab. It was in his dreams now, so vivid Tony had to turn on the lights to make sure his hands weren't dripping blood.

War couldn't replace the years of friendship, Steve knew him too well. Steve's eyes softened slightly, a look much closer to something he would've sent Tony's way before they tried to rip each other's throats out. The soldier set his paperwork on the table, whatever budget cuts he'd been trying to propose for the team, and murmured, "Should we do this another time? You seem distracted."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony responded, "I'm fine. Go on, sorry," though he craved a hard shot of liquor. Sometimes, he hated being a recovering alcoholic. There were a lot of things Tony hated since he lost Steve. Most of all, he hated himself.

It wasn't worth it. Words he'd repeated dozens of times. It wasn't worth losing him.

Tony hated hindsight and the fool it made of him.

Steve stood, pushing the documents into an organized stack. In a polo shirt and slacks, he didn't look much like Captain America, not that he ever lost the attitude. In a bitter, ironic way, it seemed so obvious that Steve Rogers was Captain America, mask or no mask. Tony figured people would know him the minute he spoke, patriotism oozed from the man's voice. Someone somewhere shot off fireworks every time he got that "I'm America" grin.

Tony rolled his head across the back of his chair and slouched deeper into the seat. At some point, he'd gotten large, luxurious armchairs for the Avengers' conference room. Though the effort was wasted on most of their teammates, at least Tony appreciated them. He'd slept in Steve's chair more than once, but that was before they'd "resurrected" him, or whatever it was that SHIELD considered classified beyond classified. Tony still didn't know how they brought Steve back to life.

"We'll do this later. Get some rest, Tony," an order. Steve's broad back turned to him as the blond gathered up his proposal and dutifully tapped the pages on the table to even out the edges.

Tony let his eyelids fall most of the way shut, his dark lashes fanning across his cheeks. He was tired. Exhausted, actually, but sleep was impossible when his best friend was dead every time he dozed off. Though, when he woke, his best friend was still dead to him. They could barely be considered colleges anymore.

For several minutes, Tony listened to Steve tap and straighten paper and shuffle around in his briefcase. When it finally got quiet, Tony assumed Steve walked away. The man was big, but had catlike tread. Tony's lips parted as he took in a stuttered breath.

The hair on his wrist prickled. Warmth radiated from touch that never connected, a hand hovering so close that Tony could feel the fingers curve delicately around the knob of bone where his wrist ended. Through his lashes, he watched Steve lean closer. The soldier's brow dipped with worry. Fingers trembling with the need to lift his arm and make the connection, Tony used every ounce of restraint to stay still. A few heartbeats passed between them before Steve sat up and snatched his hand back.

Tony wondered. When Steve closed his eyes, did he see the moment when he'd beaten Tony? That moment when he was standing over Iron Man with his shield raised, Tony's helmet broken open from his previous attacks, leaving him vulnerable. That moment when Steve hesitated and realized what he'd done. When he could've killed Tony Stark, his friend-turned-enemy, and didn't.

Tony wondered, but didn't ask.

He closed his eyes as Steve left the room.


End file.
